


Gunmetal

by LalliMachina



Series: Habits [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, Gun Kink, M/M, Power Play, Russian Roulette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LalliMachina/pseuds/LalliMachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's never held a gun before. There's no denying he likes it, the power it gives him. Ending a life is just a click away. He's always had a thing for power, no one ever suspects it, all together and polite Cas falling in love with all that's powerful.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Crowley and Castiel play russian roulette</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunmetal

**Author's Note:**

> "Lalli, why's the title Gunmetal if guns are made of steel?"  
> Ummmm shut the fuck up????  
> Okay, serious now, I'm unsure if I like this so if you read it please comment and tell me what you think

Castiel laughs, actually laugh, out loud and everything. He can't remember the last time he's laughed this hard and that together with the chuckle that comes from Crowley only make his smile more earnest. It's not his own credit card they use to cut the lines this time, but besides that it's exactly like the first time. Sat on the marble floor by the glass coffee table, Crowley prepping the lines, a faint track plays in the background ––––– Castiel's not _refined_ enough to recognize it, but it's pleasant enough. There's the gun resting on top of the table, that's different as well.

“I still don't understand why you need it.” Cas shakes his head, a grin on his lips as he rolls up a dollar bill. Crowley glares at his hands impatiently, still there's a smile on his face though.

“I've told you already, Cas,” he pauses, taking the rolled up bill from him. “These days it's a must-have.”

Crowley leans forward, snorts a line and straightens his back right away, chin pointing to the ceiling, ecstasy in his features. He always does that, Castiel had noticed, always throws his head back right after snorting. A habit Cas is starting to pick up as well, as cocaine became a part of his daily routine. It seems that the more time they spent together, the more they used. He doesn't have a problem with that. 

“You didn't have one before.” It's a harmless comment, but one that does make himself wonder, the smile on his lips fades away.

“My, how perceptive of you.” A smug smirk adorns his face, one that would probably make most people want to break Crowley's nose, but Castiel finds it almost endearing. _Almost_.

He offers Cas the dollar bill, which he gladly accepts, now it's his turn to mimic the other's movements –––– his mouth forming a silent _oh_ when he returns to his former position. Pupils dilate, heart beat increases, life is fucking great. He doesn't bother addressing the comment.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” He likes to think that, should the other be, he'd tell him but that's just wishful thinking, really. Just because Castiel tells him almost everything that happens to him, it doesn't mean the other does the same.

“Someone's feeling curious today, aren't you?”

Crowley tilts his head, eyes squinting ever so slightly as he stares at him. It doesn't intimidate him but it does make him question himself as well, why does he care? Is it because he's practically living in that apartment? It's been almost a week since he's last been to his own place, technically if someone were to break in and shoot Crowley they'd probably also end up shooting him. Maybe it's because he just doesn't want to lose his coke supply. 

Neither of those is the real reason though, is it? Not so deep down he knows why.

He cares. The reason why is the exact same as the last sentence. He cares.

“Are you?”

Crowley doesn't seem that surprised with his persistence, Castiel has grown used to the fact that he's hardly ever surprised when it comes to himself.

“No.” There's a light victorious tone hidden in his voice, in the word and Cas can't tell if he's lying or not. For now, it's enough. 

After a while of staring at it, he reaches for the gun, holds it by the barrel at first, just feeling the weight. Castiel doesn't know one thing about guns, but he thinks it's a nice one. It must be, Crowley wouldn't have bought one that was anything but perfect. He moves his hand, now holding it by the proper grip, finger on the trigger. He's never held a gun before. There's no denying he likes it, the power it gives him. Ending a life is just a click away. He's always had a thing for power, no one ever suspects it, all together and polite Cas falling in love with all that's powerful.

“Would you like to play russian roulette?”

Crowley laughs, not one of his usual low chuckles or muffled scoffs but a rather loud actual laugh that lasts maybe one of two seconds too long but still manages to intrigue Castiel.

“What?”

“ _Would you like to play russian roulette?_ ” He chuckles, running a hand through his short dark hair and shaking his head. Castiel is still unsure whether he understands exactly what just happened. “You must be quite suicidal if you really want to play russian roulette with a pistol.”

* * *

Next time Crowley gets home, Castiel is high and pacing around the living room. Getting high by himself isn't nearly as fun as getting high with the other; it's all about what you do with that newfound stamina, and what he does with Crowley is always much more _fun_ than what he does when alone. Cas just couldn't wait until he got home.

“A bit early to be all _coked up_ , don't you think?” Crowley asks, a teasing note present in his words, and closes the door behind him. When he turns to face him, Castiel notices he has a paper bag in his hand.

“It's already five in the afternoon.”

The scoff that leaves his throat carries a _well, now, who would have guessed?_ that even Castiel can grasp. Dark eyes run up and down over his figure, mouth half opened and eyebrows raised. It's not really surprised that can be seen in Crowley's features but something along those lines, something Cas can't quite fathom.

The man shakes his head, abandoning the discussion, he takes off his black coat and throws it on the couch together with the paper bag. He doesn't look tired, even after spending the whole day in the office he never does, maybe it's the chemical euphoria talking but he looks like someone who Castiel would very much like to push up against a wall.

“I've got you something,” he's quick to correct himself, “Well, I've got myself something you might like.”

The comment makes the more lustful thoughts in his mind evaporate, they're replaced by curiosity. He nears the sofa and grabs the paper bag, looking inside.

“Another gun?” He takes it out of the bag, the frown on his brow makes Crowley smirk. 

“A revolver,” He elaborates, taking a few steps closer to Castiel, the smirk still on his lips.

A silent _so?_ writes itself on Cas' expression.

“God, you have got to be the slowest I've ever had.” A frustrated sigh escapes his mouth. “Still fancy playing russian roulette?”

* * *

Half an hour later he's twice as high, heart beat so fast and loud he'd bet the other can hear it. Castiel's legs rest on either side of Crowley, it's gotten too hot for him to wear a shirt, gun in hand and the most intoxicated grin on his face. A hand squeezes his thigh, it sends an electric wave through his spine and he leans forward, placing the muzzle of the revolver under Crowley's chin. The look on the other's eyes can only be described as adoration, desire; if he could, Cas would take a picture of it. The rare moment when, for the first time, Crowley shows vulnerability. When, for the first time, Castiel has the upper hand. 

He presses the gun harder against his skin, a moan leaves his throat. It's the most delicious sounds he's ever heard. Crowley's eyes close for a moment, lips parted, before reopening themselves. Rapture takes hold of his features.

“Come on, kitten.” His voice is hoarse, low. Their lips meet in a hungry, sloppy kiss. Castiel pulls the trigger.

_Click_

They stare at each other for a whole second, there's no sign of relief in Crowley's eyes, ever unreadable dark hues. 

Crowley pushes him off his lap harshly, he lands on his back and before he realizes the other has already taken control again. He grabs the gun of Castiel's hands, pinning both of them above his head. The unfamiliar taste of steel invades his mouth as Crowley separates his lips with the muzzle, tongue against the cold barrel, he's back at his original position. Underneath him. Ready to submit to Crowley's every whim. He might give Castiel what he needs but that's only because Castiel gives him what he wants. 

And there's a very big gap between _needs_ and _wants_. A gap that defines who calls the shots and who complies. Crowley is the one with the drugs, Castiel is the one with the mangled heart.

There's a fire in his gaze, a fire Cas craves, a fire that'll burn him whole in the end, isn't that right? He hears the first click of the gun being cocked and shuts his eyes. There's a sense of almost erotic redemption at that moment, the feeling of losing all control, of not knowing if he'll live to take another breath, of not being responsible for anything at all. 

A part of him, hell, maybe even most of him wants the gun to fire, wants the bullet to pierce through his head and wants his brain to paint the carpet blood red. A part of him wants to die on Crowley's hands right here, right now. Wouldn't it be great? For everything to just stop? Eternal nothingness. No more pain, no more nights spent awake wondering if Balthazar still thinks of him, no more being sure the answer is _no_. 

He opens his eyes again, stares at the man on top of him. Crowley breathes fast, but his hand is still steady holding the revolver, is that a hint of worry Castiel sees?

“Ready, love?”

You can't speak when there's a gun in your mouth, still his eyes mutter a mute _please_.

_Click_

Castiel can tell that Crowley can tell. The disappointment in Cas' eyes, he knows he sees it. In contrast he can also see something in Crowley's, he swears it's relief.


End file.
